Count to Ten
by mintmocha07
Summary: After his accusations, Leontes counts to ten as he tries to focus while Hermione counts down to one as she deals with the situation at hand.


One knock at the door. I curtly reply with an affirmative answer. Two nervous beady eyes are fixed on me. The maid tells me Mamilius has taken ill. He has been in bed with a fever since three o'clock this afternoon. Surely an illness induced by his mother's liscentious behavior and her subsequent dismissal. Giving the doe-eyed woman a small tip of four pence for her services, I instruct send for a doctor. She scurries away.

I look out the window. The sun set nearly five hours ago, since I entered my office. I have yet to accomplish any work. Six petitions are on my desk. They are to be addressed at court tomorrow. However, my eyes fall upon the resting places of more pressing matters. Seven birds are perched outside, illuminated by the full moon and braziers lit in the courtyard. Cawing and cackling black birds. Some flutter about the nursery roof and windows and others strut through the courtyard, which lies on top of the dungeon. A bird, perhaps a jay, flies past my window, after satiating itself on the eggs of a nest not its own. It comes to rest on the clock tower. Eight minutes have slipped by in this idle bird watching. I sever my eyes from the large window behind my desk and return to reading the petitions.

Tap, tap, tap. I ignore the noise; there is work to be done and my flights of fancy have been incorrigible today. Tap, tap, tap. Focus! I must focus! Everything is being taken care of. Tap, tap, tap. Breaking on the ninth tap, I bark an affirmative answer at the door. The door creaks open and there stands my bleary eyed child. As he comes to me, I wonder if he is my own child. If she's done it once, perhaps she's done it before. Maybe this is the first time I've caught her. How could I have not noticed until now? How long has this behavior persisted? And with whom? How will I find out? Bong. The clock echoes ten times, breaking my chain of thought. "Daddy, I can't sleep. I hear noises from the basement and I don't feel well."

"Go back to bed Mamilius. You need your rest. Besides, the noise you hear just the wind blowing through the windows." Mentally cursing the staff for their carelessness, I ring for someone to take Mamilius back to the nursery. As Mamilius leaves, I think hear a mournful, chilling noise from outside. A scream or piercing cry. Surely just the cry a seagull.

I think it is ten o'clock. I cannot hear the clock very well and the barred windows are very small. They must exist purely for ventilation and as the entrance to a rodent refuge. Nine hours have passed since this all began: accusation, arrest, imprisonment, and onset of labor, until now—the worst timing I have ever experienced. In all eight years of out marriage, I never imagined this would be happening to me. As a little girl, I remember my father reading me irreverent fables of jealous husbands who were cuckolded by their wives. But I don't understand! What did I do? Was it something I said? Did I not pay enough attention to him? Yet he accuses me of sleeping with his best friend. Yes, I loved Polixenes, but only as one friend loves another or as a hostess loves her company. Was I to treat my lord's dearest friend inhospitably?

When I was seven, I recall being scolded by my father to pay attention to our guests. He was hosting a ball. The finest we had until my coming out. Dignitaries and royalty from at least six countries were present and I understood how vital it was to make a good impression upon these people. But they were all much older than me and I was nervous. However, my father insisted that I spend time with these people. If I could not engage them in conversation, I was expected to listen to them and nonverbally express my interest or simply make sure they were comfortable.

Excruciating pain rips through my body. I recall that Mamilius had not been this stubborn a baby to deliver. Perhaps this child knows what awaits him or her. I shudder to think about what he may do to the babe; I care not what happens to me. I could die. My lord could order my execution and I would not care, as long as the child lives. I want to die. I have forgotten how painful childbirth is. Thank goodness Paulina is here. I vaguely hear her over the din of my own breathing, giving orders to my five ladies: fetch this, clean that, replace this, move that. Her honeyed voice soothes my scattered thoughts, offering encouragement. Four of my ladies have left this…cell…to fetch extra blankets, fresh water, a brazier for heat, and clean towels and sheets. The remaining woman is having a quiet, intense exchange with a maid at the door. I wonder what they are discussing until another round of pain wracks my body. I cry out. Surely I am almost done from the three encouraging cries I hear in reply from Paulina and the other two ladies.

I live in moments now, a breath at a time, until I feel it stop. My body collapses into the pallet's rickety mattress as Paulina fusses over the child. For a moment, there is no sound. My eyes are pealed open in fear until I hear one cry. As my eyes glaze over and droop shut from exhaustion, Paulina hands me a neatly wrapped bundle. She whispers in my ear that it is a girl. The corners of my mouth tug upward into a smile; I've secretly always wished for a daughter. Perdita…a beautiful, yet appropriate name. I will call her Perdita.


End file.
